"NO!" Dean screamed.
It was a routine salt and burn. It always seemed to be a routine salt and burn though in which the Winchester's always ran into trouble. Earlier that day, Sam and Dean headed to the cemetery to torch the corpse of some spirit. Now, that same spirit was currently holding Sam under the water of a lake less than 30 yards away from the freshly dug up grave.
Fighting every instinct in him to run and help his brother, Dean hurried to burn the body of the spirit. As Dean poured the salt into the grave, he kept looking up at his brother struggling in the water. Dean cursed himself for not bothering to bring his rock salt gun with him.
It was supposed to be simple. Sam had a gun ready to blast the spirit full of rock salt while Dean burned the bones. It was fool proof, until the ghost knocked Sam off his feet causing him to drop his gun and then continued to drag him into the lake.
So Dean knew the only way to help his brother right now was to burn this damn corpse already. In his fervor to save Sam, Dean dropped the whole box of salt into the grave before coating the inside of the grave with lighter fluid and setting the bones ablaze. Running over to the now still water, Dean dove in searching desperately for his baby brother. There was no time to allow himself to think about how long has passed since Sam last had oxygen in his lungs as he desperately tried to locate Sam in the murky water.
Thankfully, the lake was small and shallow making the task of finding Sam rather simple. As Dean pulled Sam to the surface, he refused to think of why his brother wasn't moving and why he was growing heavier and heavier as if his body wanted to go back down into the lake.
Throwing Sam up onto the grass, Dean clambered up onto the land dragging Sam with him away from the cold water. But Sam wasn't moving. Sam's eyes were closed and he looked pale and Dean felt his pulse skyrocket.
"Sammy," Dean all but whispered as he placed his index and middle fingers on the pulse point in Sam's neck. Dean continued to move his fingers all along Sam's neck trying to find his carotid artery even though he knew his fingers were already directly above it. Sam's didn't have a pulse.
Sam's heart was not beating. Sam's not breathing. "Please," begged Dean but it came out as a whisper. He could feel his clothes clinging around him, the cold water soaking into his bones, chilling him to the core.
This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. Sam. Oh god. Please. Sam. Breathe. Please. Please. Oh my god. Please, Sammy.
Focus, Dean! Tune it all out, breathe, focus. Body working on autopilot, Dean placed his hands on Sam's chest preparing for CPR. Don't think, act.
"Dean focus, Dean watch out for your brother, Dean!" He could hear his father screaming at him. But his father wasn't here. His father who taught him CPR. His father who was a superhero. His father who could get Sam to breathe again. But his father was dead, and now the only person who could help Sam is Dean. So he started compressions.
"One, two, three, four," but Dean can't count out loud anymore. It's distracting and all he can think of is teaching Sammy to count holding up his fingers and writing the numbers down so Sam can see what they look like. Helping Sam with math homework and studying for tests. The numbers hurt too much so Dean stops counting and just continues to beat down on Sam's chest.
Oh god. Sam. Please. No. Come on. Breathe. Sammy. Please.
Continuing compressions, Dean realizes that he can't see. His vision is so blurred he can barely make out shapes. He blinks trying to clear his vision but doesn't falter in his compressions. He doesn't need to see anyway; all he needs is to get Sam breathing again.
Dean losses count a couple times and when he thinks he gets to 30 he leans down, tilts Sam's head back, and blows air into Sam's starved lungs.
Dean can't think about how cold Sam's lips are. Can't think about how they're starting to turn blue. Can't think about how they don't respond to Dean's mouth. Can't think about anything because he has a job to do and Sammy is counting on him.
After two breaths, Dean continues compression. Growing more and more detached, like a machine forcing his brother's dead heart to beat. Dean tries to control his breathing, knowing he won't be any good to Sam if he is a blubbering mess.
And one round of 30 compressions and 2 breaths later, Dean isn't thinking. Working completely on muscle memory like his father taught him so many years ago. Sam is fine. Sam is going to be fine. Keep your head. And he does, until he feels the sickening crunch of Sam's ribs underneath his hands that have been mercilessly, relentlessly pumping Sam's heart.
Sam doesn't move, doesn't react because Sam's not breathing. Dean continues, ignoring the ache in his arms, the dizziness in his head, the bile threatening to come up his throat. And then, Sam starts choking. Dean only acts on instinct as he turns Sam on his side as water gushes from Sam's mouth and nose. Dean still can't speak, knowing if he opens his mouth he'll start throwing up and then he can't help Sam. So he rubs his little brothers back as he chokes up some more water gasping and coughing. Sam's eyes are barely open but Dean sees his little brother's eyes looking around and manages to choke out, "It's okay Sammy. Let it all out."
Managing one more pathetically, weak cough, Sam slumps against Dean. Dean lays Sam back down and checks his breathing and his heart. Dean can breathe again, and then he's laughing and doesn't notice when his laughs turn into sobs that wrack his whole body. He feels Sam's broken ribs and listens to his lungs. The break is clean and his lungs sound clear so Dean finally lets the emotions come pouring back in now that Sam is out of immediate danger.
Sam almost died. Oh my god. Sam wasn't breathing. Sam drowned. And then Dean was throwing up in the bushes lining the lake. Dean recalls Sam's lips turning blue. Sam's rib breaking under the pounding of Dean's own hands on Sam's lax chest. Sam, Sam, Sam. Dean continues to retch until all that comes up is bile that stings his throat. Crawling back over to Sam he gathers up his strength to carry Sam to the Impala. Sam looks peaceful now, like he's resting and Dean can't get over the urge to crush his brother to his chest and just breathe him in. Sam's safe. Sam's breathing now and so can Dean.